


The Cusp and the Fjords We Wade Through

by almadeamla



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almadeamla/pseuds/almadeamla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://twd-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://twd-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/"><b>twd_kinkmeme</b></a> prompt: Rick and Shane had a thing before Rick met Lori.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cusp and the Fjords We Wade Through

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [](http://vagrantdream.livejournal.com/profile)[ **vagrantdream**](http://vagrantdream.livejournal.com/) for betaing this story. She has the patience of a saint. That said, any lingering mistakes are entirely her fault.
> 
> Because I am a forgetful idiot. Thank you to [](http://thevinegarworks.livejournal.com/profile)[**thevinegarworks**](http://thevinegarworks.livejournal.com/) for staying up with me into the wee hours of the morning all those weeks ago when I was trying to figure out how to plot this fic. This story would not be nearly as coherent without her, or as long, or as Rick/Shane as it is.
> 
> And a thank you to [](http://turtlepatch.livejournal.com/profile)[**turtlepatch**](http://turtlepatch.livejournal.com/) for encouraging me to write this in the first place, and for all those texts he allowed me to assault him with.
> 
> Title taken from St. Peter's Day Festival by Ra Ra Riot

  
They both had offers coming to them in the mail, from football schools, mostly. Big, state universities where they’d be expected to play if they were good enough or watch from the bench if they weren’t; they’d still be part of a team. Rick didn’t want that. He wanted something more substantial.

“I’m going to join the sheriff’s department,” he announced to Shane while they were watching football in Shane’s living room, feet kicked up on Shane’s mother’s antique coffee table made of cherry wood and expensive glass. They had on white, white socks. “I’m going to the police academy in Atlanta at the start of August.”

Shane looked at him, blinked—slow, considerate. There was no anger in his eyes. But the curl to his lips when he opened his mouth was wrought with hurt, deep and ugly.

“Bein’ a cop does sound pretty cool,” he said, hand on his knee, toes shifting. “Is it too late to turn in an application?”

“Paperwork isn’t due ‘till January.” Rick though about the two of them together, shifted from the football field to the real world, out where they could do good. When they were kids, even younger than now, with bikes with training wheels and orange plastic squirt guns that sort of looked like the real thing, Rick’s mom called them partners in crime. This time they’d be real partners, with a squad car and guns that shot more than water and juice.

Shane nodded at him, turned back to the TV. Rick wondered if Shane knew what he was giving up, the schools and parties, afternoons running drills out on the field beneath the Georgia sky, even in the hottest months of the summer, football helmets so hot it felt like your scalp was melting right into your brain.

“This is gonna be fun.” Shane reached for his water, and his cup left a ring of moisture on the table. The press of it against his lips, the motions of his throat as he swallowed—Rick looked for regret in any of it, a single indication that Shane would want to back out in the end. Shane never mentioned what he wanted to do after high school, but it was certainly never supposed to be this.

“Yeah.” Rick leaned back, into the couch and Shane’s mother’s expensive, fancy cushions—let his breath flow out of him.

-

They were small town boys at heart.

Shane knew it the second they pulled into Atlanta. They’d lived in the same few square miles of town their whole lives and the city felt too big, too wild, like a stray cat, all claws and teeth. They had their things packed up into the back of Rick’s truck, tied down in the bed, and their mommas had kissed them both goodbye, their fathers laid hands on their shoulders, their necks, called them men, sent them off on their way.

They weren’t completely moved in until the afternoon had come and gone, faded into pastel colors splashed onto the horizon, out toward the west. When they finished, their apartment had a couch in the living room, Shane’s family’s old TV, and two mattresses on their bedroom floor, boxes stacked high into mockeries of real furniture, towers that almost blocked the light.

Rick flopped onto his mattress, belly up.

“I’m beat.”

Shane hummed agreement, undid the first few buttons of his shirt. The air conditioner promised to them by the landlord was on the fritz. He doubted it was ever going to work. They were young and they were strong .They could handle the heat, even if it felt like they were losing every drop of moisture in their bodies through their skin. His shirt stuck to him; damp, constricting flesh, weight that pinned him flat.

It was too hot to move, to eat. He wanted to lie there, on a mattress on the floor of a strange new city, and listen to the sounds of Atlanta as he fell asleep.

-

Rick woke up early one Sunday morning, struck by the sudden and intense urge to go to church. He hadn’t been in a month, not since they left. The academy and training and hanging out with Shane took up all his time. His mother would have been ashamed if she’d known. She’d tell him to ask forgiveness of God for his neglect.

The preacher held his arms out to the congregation, hands open, the sunlight bathing him in gold.

Rick didn’t like church now any more than he did when he was living at home, in a suit and tie, sitting beside his parents and younger brother in a wooden pew. But the sermon was of God and his glory, the resolute strength in faith, the power that came from God. God held up those who deserved it with a righteous hand, and through certain men, he showed his love for the world. _Like a channel, open yourself to God and his will to flow, from your soul out through your fingertips_.

Rick believed in God. He believed in personal responsibility, showing good through your work. He believed most in being a good man.

“Where’ve you been?” Shane was sitting wide legged on the couch in his boxers, eating cereal out of Tupperware with an oversized spoon.

“Nowhere important.”

Shane didn’t pay him any attention. He turned up the TV, wiped a dribble of milk from his chin.

-

He didn’t think it was supposed to feel this way. He and Shane—it wasn’t right. Their dynamic had been shifted, twisted, and it was the little things: folding laundry at the table while Shane cooked in the kitchen, stealing a pair of Shane’s socks when his were dirty, and sitting close enough their elbows touched when they watched the game, that worried him, buried into his gut heavy and deep. He couldn’t shake it, the uncomfortable sensation that something was off about them, like there was a parasite wriggling through his blood. Dread, a kind of it. That they were straying off into a place they shouldn’t be. Somewhere Rick wanted to go.

“Chicken?” Shane asked, standing barefoot in the kitchen, shirt tossed casually onto the floor. Shane’s chest was golden skin and gleaming beads of sweat. Rick couldn’t remember when Shane’s chest was something he started to notice. That worried him, too.

“Sure,” he said, smiling. Above his head the fan clicked and whirled. His shirt was soaked past the collar, all the way down to his spine. It was unseasonably hot for the tail end of October, temperature and humidity in the eighties with no end in sight. It was set to be a warm, sunny Christmas if things didn’t start to change soon. There was so much moisture in the air it hurt to breathe. Like his lungs were filling up with bathwater, lukewarm and thin.

He heard the meat sizzle as it hit the pan, the hiss and pop of fat and grease. Shane whistled at night, hummed in the afternoon. Rick felt grown up to be here, to be like this, but at the core of it, he and Shane were just two boys trying to find their way, to grow into men their parents could be proud of. Men they wanted to see in the mirror every day.

Shane put four chicken breasts on the table, golden and fried. He held his fork at an awkward angle, and Rick saw a pink streak across the heel of his hand.

“Oil splashed up at me,” Shane said, burn looking like it was throbbing, hot. “Cookin’s harder than it looks.”

“You sound like your mother.”

Shane laughed, and he looked a little like his mother then, too. The curl in his hair, the pink in his lips, the way he bent his hand to hide the burn, tucked in trigger-finger. Rick remembered weapons training earlier that day, the smell of the gun powder and smoke, recoil of the weapon vibrating up his arm. From target practice to a home cooked meal. Didn’t seem real, like champagne and vodka, two things that weren’t supposed to mix.

“Next time you can make your own damn dinner.” Shane smiled, tearing a strip of chicken with his teeth. The meat was white, steaming, not quite overdone. Rick tasted salt and spice, maybe sugar.

“I’m going to go for a run.” He slid the plate away, food half-eaten. It sat in his stomach hard as rocks.

“Want me to come with?”

“You should finish eating.” He wanted to go out on his own. No distractions, just his feet on the pavement, traversing the streets beneath a starless sky. That was one thing he really missed about being home: being able to see the stars.

He wanted to run until his muscles were burning, until he looked like he’d been rode hard and put up wet. “I won’t be gone long.”

-

“I hate this show.” Rick slurred a little, sounded like there’s something behind his teeth. They were drunker than they should be, but it was a Saturday night and there was nothing to do but laze around on the couch and drink the beer Shane bought with his fake ID. They should get out more. Only problem was the city didn’t feel like home. “Change it to somethin’ else.”

“I like it.” Onscreen, blood squirted from a kid’s gunshot wound right into George Clooney’s face. Dripped down his nose. “We shoulda gone to medical school.”

Rick laughed, loud and belly deep.

“Just change the channel, Dr. Walsh.”

“Not until the hot nurse shows her tits.”

“It’s network television,” Rick said, like that meant something, and lunged for the remote. Lunged on top of him like they were in high school again, wrestling over who got the last slice of pizza or who had to who has to pay for gas. Shane held the remote behind his head, far as his arm would reach. Rick was clumsier than usual, and Shane was overheated, alcohol buzzing underneath his skin. Rick ended up on top of him, using his hands to keep him pinned. The way their bodies were aligned, they were chest to chest, dick to dick.

It was never like this before.

They stared at each other. Shane felt a prickle on the back of his neck, in his spine. Rick was looking at him weird. He wondered how he was looking back, if it was the same, if Rick was worried too.

Rick kissed him. A long, thick slide of tongue.

“Rick,” Shane asked, hands fisted in the front of Rick’s shirt, and he couldn’t decide if he should pull Rick closer or push him away. The beer made things slow and sour, an old clock in its final seconds, a snail’s pace. “What’re we doing?”

“I don’t know.” Rick sounded so honest, so confused. He sounded like everything Shane was feeling, that bone marrow turmoil, oil bubbled scalding hot inside his bones. This wasn’t how he ever thought things between them would be.

He leaned up until his mouth touched Rick’s. It was warmer, softer, sweeter, than he expected. Rick leaned into it, the weight of his body pushing Shane further into the couch. Rick hadn’t shaved in two days, his stubble burned the corners of Shane’s mouth red and raw, and Shane didn’t turn his face away until he had to breathe. Rick’s spit tasted bitter, tinged with beer, the remnants of his sandwich sitting on the counter.

“Man, we’re drunk.”

“Yeah,” Rick said, nodding. They were still face to face, noses almost touching. “I think so.” Rick nodded again, slowly blinked, like he was trying to focus. Up close, his eyes were a vibrant blue. Eighteen years and Shane had never really noticed. “We should go to bed and sleep it off.”

He wanted to kiss Rick again, but he always did what Rick asked of him. Rick always knew best, and if Rick wanted him to go to bed, then he would, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

“Good idea,” he grunted, waiting, watching, to see if Rick was going to move. Rick shifted, redistributed his weight, one knee sliding between Shane’s thighs, but didn’t get off the couch.

He could give Rick a gentle nudge to help him up or roll out from underneath and drop onto the floor.

He did neither. He listened to the flutter of his heart, like a hummingbird trapped inside his chest, and licked his lips. He was starting to sweat again. He felt too hot for his skin. It was a thousand degrees inside his head, in his pants it was even warmer, his cock full and flush with blood.

Rick grabbed onto his face, gripped it between both hands, and viciously, violently, kissed him. He pushed his tongue into Rick’s mouth and kissed back, hard as he could manage.

Rick pulled his shirt over his head, staring down as Shane unbuckled his belt, shoved his pants as far down as they’d go. He undid Rick’s pants too, trying to figure out where to start. The old couch groaned beneath them, like old floorboards and waterlogged wood.

Suddenly what they were about to do seemed real. They were on the couch, in their boxers, and Shane already had Rick’s dick halfway out. Rick was going to fuck him and Shane was going to let it happen. He wanted it to happen, because that’s what they did. He gave everything for Rick to take. He pushed until Rick’s strong enough to pull and Rick would do the same for him.

Rick spit into the palm of his hand, rolled on a condom. Shane watched the ceiling fan as it turned, wondered if he was supposed to close his eyes.

His breath caught in his chest, locked his throat. Giving never hurt like this, there was never an uneven slide, a stop and burn. It was always effortless, never as intimate and tangible as this. He had Rick’s cock inside him. It should have been weird, but it wasn’t, only painful, the sensation of something wedged where nothing was supposed to go, like a big needle into a too small vein. Crap metaphors.

Rick rested his forehead on Shane’s shoulder. Shane brought one of his hands up, curled it around the back of Rick’s neck, maybe to anchor himself as Rick thrust into him, maybe to keep Rick from being able to look at him. Things were easier this way, when they were just skin on skin and he wasn’t watching Rick, his best friend, fuck him hard enough he thought he could feel Rick’s cock reach all the way through the base of his spine, like he was being fucked clean through. He wasn’t entirely surprised to find that he liked it, each good, solid movement, even if it felt like he was about to fall apart and bleed.

Everything was going fine until Rick lifted his head and looked him in the face. They made eye contact and then Rick nudged him up, over, and laid him belly down on the couch, his cheek pressed into the pillows. Shane liked it better this way, with Rick’s chest on his back. It wasn’t so real then.

He used his free hand to jack himself off. He thought about Rick, the spiral of sensations, the things that made his muscles clench and his toes and fingers flex and curl, he and Rick playing football together, joining the police academy together, being the perfect team together, so fast and loyal and smart. It made sense that they’d do everything together, even this.

He came all over his hand, all over the couch beneath him. He was on Rick, now, and there was some of Rick in him, and it was too much to process in one night. Rick took a little longer to finish, but when he did Shane could feel it, even through the condom, and it made him squirm, uncomfortable, and move his hips. Rick tucked his chin between Shane’s shoulders, his breath cooling the sweat on his skin.

“I’m going to go to bed now.” Rick sat up, pulled out, tucked himself into his boxers.

“Me too,” he said and it felt like nothing even happened, like nothing had changed. He didn’t see why it should. His mother used to tell him that some things just happened and they were neither bad nor good, only actions to take up space.

“Goodnight.”

He followed Rick down the hallway, into their room.

“Night.”

He climbed into his bed, back to Rick, towards the open window, and went to sleep. He didn’t need to dream.

-

Rick couldn’t explain the urge to Shane or himself. He just woke up one morning and some part of him had already decided he and Shane were going to try sharing a bed. Rick never had to share a bed with someone for longer than a few hours of the night. All his girlfriends in high school had curfews and large, stern fathers whose rules neither he nor his girlfriend were willing to break.

“You sure you want to do this?” Shane grunted as he pushed his bed across the floor. Rick pulled until their mattresses meet. Their twins together had instantly become a king.

“I thought we could give it a try.” If things were going to be like this, exactly the same but completely different, then this was something he wanted to do. Shane in his bed, in a way that mattered, was the real test.

Shane was on his side. Rick was facing his smooth, muscular back. The months at the academy had been good to Shane, both of them. Without football to keep them busy, he was afraid they’d fall out of shape, lose all the muscle it took them years to earn. Shane was toned as ever and it seemed like they’d both grown at least an inch or two.

He reached under the bed for the condoms his younger brother bought him when he left home in August. They’d been a joke then. They were useful now. Shane’s shoulders tensed at the sound of the foil crinkling as Rick unwrapped it, but the tension smoothed away as Rick put the condom on, dragged his fingers over the greasy latex to be sure it was snug in place. He scooted over on the bed, spooned himself up against Shane’s. They were both already damp, sticky, flushed from the Georgia night.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing, or why. There was no beer or excuses. Shane was the guy he grew up with, the dude he trusted with his life, the way he felt about him hadn’t changed.

Shane had pulled his boxers off at some point and it only took a bit of maneuvering on Rick’s part, adjusting to the angle, the new position, before he was ready to push in. Shane grunted as he entered, and there was a hitch in his breathing, hands fisted in the sheets like he was braced against pain. Shane had limped, after, bled a little, and he hoped the second time wasn’t as bad. It never was with his first girlfriend. This was new to the both of them, so terrifyingly new, and he couldn’t understand why people were willing to do this if it hurt, he guessed you just had to get broken in, same as any virgin.

“Okay?” He asked, ready to stop, to roll over and will himself to behave.

Shane nodded hard enough to shake the mattresses. There was a quiet creak of metal springs.

He’d never had sex like this before. He had to wrap his arm around Shane’s waist to hold him steady, keep him from sliding away. The motion he made with his hips was like rocking, forward and up. The pace was slower than he’s used to, but Shane’s mouth was half open, and he was making small, breathy noises muffled by his teeth.

He fucked Shane until his muscles burned, until he could feel Shane shaking, until the headboards were about to put a dent into the wall. Shane came just from Rick fucking him, hot on the hand Rick had pressed flat on Shane’s belly to keep him close, their bodies together. Shane came just from his cock rubbing against the blue sheets. Rick came because Shane was warm inside and tighter than he ever thought anyone could be. They fit together good, the best, like they had since they were kids. Rick finally let go of Shane and his arm was slick with sweat, back of his hand covered slick. He wiped it clean before he could satisfy the urge to lick it.

Rick moved back to his side of the bed, tied the condom off and dumped it into the trashcan on the floor. He felt relaxed, exhausted, like the stress from earlier that day had evaporated into the air. It had been a hard day, procedural training and a ten mile run. Shane rolled over onto his back, then his stomach, slid an arm under his pillow as he drifted off to sleep.

Shane was a still sleeper, always had been. Rick lay awake, underneath just the sheets, knowing that with the slightest shift their legs could touch, their hands or their feet. He wondered if one of them would roll over, if he’d wake up with his head on Shane’s chest, tucked into the notch between throat and shoulder. He couldn’t decide what he’d do about that, if it was something he did or didn’t want. He had to fight off feelings that seemed too deep to touch.

Shane opened one eye and laughed. His voice was soft and sleepy.

“Man, I knew you’d get like this, help me push the beds back.”

-

Rick kissed his cheek, his neck, his jaw.

“I’m so glad you came with me,” Rick said, his breath whiskey and tequila sweet. He mouthed all of Shane’s neck, every inch of skin he could reach. His stubble burnt.

Rick was drunker than Shane had ever seen him be. They both were. They were legal adults now, but back home they were still only high school boys who went to high school parties and had never polished off more than a six pack of beer and the occasional shot of vodka snuck from a parent’s liquor cabinet. This was real drinking, round after round, shots bought by the guys old enough to legally drink, mixing liquors like everyone said not to do. Young and stupid fun. Celebrating their accomplishments. Graduating from the police academy. Most of them not even legal to drink, clustered around someone’s basement table. Copying Rick, downing shots only after Rick picked up a glass. Monkey see, monkey do. There were moments he thought he wouldn’t exist outside the friendly stretch of Rick’s shadow.

“You don’t gotta thank me for that, shit,” he whispered, wrecked, shocked to silence by Rick’s lips on his throat, tongue following the curve of his necklace down and around.

“You’re the best friend I’ll ever have.”

He had to close his eyes, turn his head. It was the most affectionate thing anyone had said to him. It hit hard, like a punch to the gut, knocked the wind out of him. Rick wasn’t supposed to say crazy crap like that. Neither of them was.

They’d done it before, twice actually, once in this same bed, but he couldn’t compare this to those quick and dirty fucks. Or any of the quick and dirty fucks from high school. Rick didn’t do quick and dirty, not usually. Rick had finally lost his virginity a few months shy of seventeen, after being with the same girl, a nice, honest girl, since the start of their sophomore year. Rick had respected Natalie, Rick had loved her, and he’d told Shane how special it had been, how Natalie had trusted him, how she’d held so tight to him once he got inside. He’d ripped Rick a new one at first, poking fun, but it was a far cry from the girl whose name he couldn’t remember that had let him fuck her in the back of her daddy’s parked pickup truck, skirt pushed up around her bellybutton, sound of her brothers and sisters shrieking inside the house, hum of late night TV. This here, now, this was how Rick fucked people he _loved_.

-

They made it home just in time for Christmas.

Rick turned up the radio, rested the back of his head against the wall. Shane was half asleep beside him, blinking real hard just to stay awake. His mouth worked reflexively around a candy cane. Rick could smell the mint.

“You want me to drive you home?” It was dark outside, had been for hours. Rick thought it was nearing one in the morning. Even the Christmas jingles on the radio were starting to go quiet. He couldn’t tell what was whiter, the snow or the full moon. It was a clear and pretty night. In the summers he and Shane used to sit out on nights like this, side by side in the bed of his truck, half a dozen bottles of soda between them, clinking glasses and watching the stars.

“Mhm.” Shane made a sleepy sound, a vibration in his throat. He opened both eyes. “I’ll walk. S’not too far.”

“Cold though,” he reminded, gently, touching the wool of Shane’s new sweater. Rick’s mother had made sweaters for them both, thick gray things with turtle necks and long sleeves. Shane had put it on instantly, maybe to placate her. Rick hung his up in the closet.

“I’ll run.” Shane’s head tipped forward until his chin touched his chest.

“We’ll find you dead ten feet from the house if you do.” He nudged Shane in the ribs, used a hand to prop him up.

“Shit,” Shane said, blinking again, suddenly alert. “I didn’t get you a present.”

“I didn’t get you one either.” Except he did. Nothing fancy, just practical, a new pair of boots to replace the ones Shane had worn for the last four years. They were in a box underneath his bed.

“You’re such a liar.” Shane smiled, pushed Rick down.

He didn’t realize what Shane was doing at first. It wasn’t until Shane unzipped his pants, breath warm across his dick, that he got the full picture. Stunned by it, he brought a hand up to grip Shane by the hair. “Merry Christmas,” Shane told him, then started sucking his cock. It wasn’t unlike nights with his girlfriends and that made him stop a moment, think. Sex with Shane was supposed to be comfortable, not so easy, not like a marriage eight years in.

Shane knew how to do this in theory. They’d talked about it before, compared the techniques of girls they’d gone out with, what they liked, what they didn’t. Still, knowing how and actually doing it were completely different. Shane’s mouth was wet and messy, sticky from the nonalcoholic eggnog Rick’s mother had served them earlier, syrupy from the candy cane.

Shane’s problem was that he was overeager. He tried to do too much too fast. There was too much spit and when Shane tried to deepthroat him Rick got an unfortunate scrape of teeth. Shane’s gag reflex wasn’t the strongest, either. After Shane gagged once, a horrible, sick noise, Rick thought it’s over, but then Shane pulled back, pulled off, and tried again. Slower this time. Less like he was trying to impress someone. It was better, not great, swipe of tongue and decent suction. Solid effort for a first time. Better than Rick thought it would be. More than he expected Shane to give.

He tangled his fingers tighter in Shane’s hair when he came, made him take it, the jerk of his hips. Shane’s throat tightened, but he didn’t retch. Shane sat on the bed for a moment; mouth closed tight, and swallowed, saliva gleaming on his lips.

“How was it?” Rick asked. He already knew the answer from the look on Shane’s face.

Shane wiped his mouth and spit into the wastebasket. It was all the answer Rick needed. “Can I drive you home now?”

“Yeah,” Shane said. He talked like his throat hurt. “I think I earned it.”

Shane conked out on the five minute drive to his house, cheek against the window, drooling on the glass.

-

They got jobs at the sheriff’s department soon as they got back into town. There was a shortage of officers in the area, too many old men retiring while the younger ones moved on to new towns, big cities to start their adult lives. Sheriff’s department snatched them up, glad to have them. With the promise of a steady paycheck, they had enough to rent a house a few blocks from where they used to live. Two bedrooms, two baths, two stories; a real home.

The unrelenting heat had finally been broken by a late December snow. Their boxes were stuffed into the bed of Rick’s truck when they pulled up and set about carrying all the stuff in. Shane was cold even in his sweater, fingertips numb. When he dropped a box because his fingers felt frozen solid, Rick laughed and sandwiched Shane’s hands between his.

Rick’s palms were warm.

“Better?” He asked and for a minute, Shane thought Rick is going to kiss him, right there in their new front yard. He waited for it, considered leaning in, but then Rick let go, waved to someone over Shane’s shoulder.

Shane turned to find a girl, bundled up in a pink snow coat and hat, walking toward them through the snow. She was holding something wrapped in foil in her hands. As she got closer, he saw that it was a pie. He’d forgotten how welcoming people in this town could be. When they moved into their apartment in Atlanta, the only visitor they got from the building was the landlord collecting rent.

“Hi, I’m Lori, your neighbor.” Her voice was shy, quiet, and it looked like she was fighting off a blush. Shane remembered high school girls. He remembered how it felt to want them, and the memory didn’t spark anything to life inside his head.

“I’m Rick.” Rick smiled, shook her gloved hand.

“Shane,” he said. She shook his hand too, kept her eyes on Rick. It was going to be like that, apparently. Same as ever.

“Are you two new to town?”

Shane let Rick answer. The conversation wasn’t meant for him, not really.

He looked off to the side, to the setting sun, the smear of colors, like paint of frosted glass. The snow shone, smooth and white.

Lori said something, sweet and pretty and young, and he could see why Rick always got first choice. Why Rick got the good, wholesome girls. Shane wouldn’t know what to do with them. He wouldn’t know how to treat them right.

“I have to go,” Lori said, blushing, for real this time, red in her cheeks. Her breath rose in puffs, like smoke and steam. “Enjoy the pie.”

“We will; thank you.”

In the house, Shane sat backwards in a kitchen chair, elbows on the table. His slice of pie sat in front of him, scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream Lori had also brought them melting on top, mushy and liquid, like his stupid, worthless heart.

He knew now, sure as anything, that moving home again really was the _end_.

“That Lori gal is pretty cute.” He ate a big forkful of pie. It had no taste. “Shoulda seen her eyes when she saw you; they were full of little stars.” His tongue was like wet cement as he said it, but what else was he supposed to do? He had best friend responsibilities. He’d seen a glimpse of what Rick would have, some charming future, pretty wife and house and kid, and he had to tell him to go for it, to at least give it a shot. Give Rick the idea and hope he wouldn’t take to it. That he’d come back. Rick had done it, before, with those old high school girlfriends who dumped him for spending too much time with Shane, feeling neglected when it hadn’t been like _that_ then.

Rick watched him. His eyes were distant, cool. Still, it felt as though Rick could see right inside him, all the weak spots in his chest.

“You think so?” Rick’s voice was soft, careful, like he was asking permission. Making sure it was okay. Checking to be sure he was hearing Shane right. Testing the waters. Shane imagined, at this point, that they fluctuated between burning hot and freezing cold, churning surf and giant sharks.

“Oh yeah. Wouldn’t be surprised if she went home and wrote Mrs. Lori Grimes in all of her notebooks.”

Rick nodded and said nothing. Shane wanted to ask what it meant, this introduction of Lori into their lives. Rick hadn’t said anything about her, not like he used to before, when they’d sit on Rick’s bed and talk shit and sports and women. Things seemed so much easier in high school, before life and real world complications got in the way. When they were just boys, that was when stuff made sense.

Rick got up, slowly, and opened their new fridge.

“You want to go out for pizza tonight? I don’t feel like going to the store. And I don’t know which box the dishes are in. Unless you feel like cooking?”

Shane felt his shoulders relax, something tight unhinge, loosen.

“Fuck no, let’s go. I’m starving.”

Rick tossed Shane his jacket and grabbed the keys.

-

Lori scooted up close against him, blanked draped around her shoulders. Winter was fading fast but nights were still cold, especially now, the two of them sitting together in the bed of his truck. Usually he’d take a girl out somewhere special; to a place she’d want to tell her friends about in the morning, somewhere flashy to reel her in. Lori was better than that, beyond it, content to cuddle against him and watch the sky.

“How do you know Shane?” She pillowed her head on his shoulder. Her eyelashes tickled his skin.

It was such a loaded question, a chamber with fifteen rounds. He wasn’t sure where to start or how to begin. There was too much room for potential error, so he went with what he knew, what had always been.

“He’s my best friend.” He waited to see if she would probe it further, like a tongue poking a rotting tooth. It wasn’t strange, what he and Shane were doing. Friends lived together all the time. “I’ve known him most of my life.”

“That’s nice.” She burrowed closer, cocooned against the cold. “He seems like a good guy.”

“One of the best,” he told her, and left it at that.

-

Rick turned to him early one Friday afternoon. They sky was overcast, dark gray. A summer storm was preparing to roll in. He could feel the static charge of lightning building in the air.

“What do you say we watch the game tonight? Just like old times.”

Shane couldn’t swallow his bite of sandwich, his throat was so thick. He had to take a swig of water to wash it down. It’d been a long time since he’d heard those words. He’d wanted to do something between then, to be the one to touch, shove Rick’s hand down the front of his pants, get Rick on his back, Rick’s thighs around his waist. But, like a pit-bull, he was trained to follow Rick’s lead.

“Course, man. It’ll be great.” Like old times was just what he’d been missing. Rick across the table from him at night, Rick taking up space on the couch, their bodies pressed together, breathing hard and hot. He’d missed that more than he was willing to say. “You wanna get dinner beforehand?”

“Lori and I have been going out a lot lately. I’d rather eat at home.”

Shane thought, made a list in his head. There was a pound of pork chops in the fridge, half a bag of potatoes in the cupboard under the sink. He could whip something up. He hadn’t had to cook for someone other than himself in weeks, the times he wasn’t too lazy to order out. It really would be like Atlanta again, Shane burning himself in the kitchen while Rick did laundry or the dishes, watched him work.

“Sounds like a plan.”

At home, Rick set to peeling potatoes while Shane rubbed seasoning into the meat and put it in the oven to bake. Rick dropped the potatoes into a pot of water that he set to boil. It was déjà vu, a return to another era, the months before when they were great. A work of art, symmetric shapes.

For awhile, everything was fine. Until Rick went and ruined it.

Shane finished telling a story, some crappy joke he heard from one of the guys at the station house. Rick was nodding along, chuckling, when he let the news slip, drop right into Shane’s lap like a thousand pound weight.

“Lori and her parents are out of town for the weekend.”

He paused, but the venom on his tongue was already building thick, like a layer of wet concrete on grass. He couldn’t get it off fast enough, out and away.

“I wondered why you suddenly wanted to spend time with me again.”

Rick stopped cutting his meat and looked up. Shane thought he could see a flash of panic in Rick’s eyes, a spark of electricity that fizzled out and faded away. A drop of water that evaporated in the air.

“Nah, just been preoccupied with Lori lately.” Then, Rick looked him dead on and said “You remember how girls can be, don’t you?”

Shane’s teeth squeaked as they ground together.

“Remind me,” he breathed out, smoke and flames. His blood was on fire, hot enough it was liable to boil over, spill out the seams. “How can they be?”

He thought they went off course somewhere along the line. Train derailed, massive explosion, because Rick just laughed, casual as ever. He didn’t know the two of them could ever be this out of sync, so disconnected. As though they’d never met, like Shane was just another guy from the precinct, someone to idly chat with before moving on to better things.

“Needy.”

“Right.” Shane put down his fork, suddenly not hungry. Ten bucks worth of pork chop down the fucking drain. He was too mad to eat. Too much of something else too. The stuff he wouldn’t admit to, all that was better left unsaid.

He pushed away from the table, grabbed his plate. There was aluminum foil under the sink. He wrapped it around twice, to keep the flavor in.

Rick looked up at him.

“You alright?”

“Not very hungry.” Damn, did he ever sound like a woman. Like Rick’s neglected wife. What a faggot he was turning out to be.

“Are you getting sick?” Rick was clueless, or maybe not. Rick only saw what he wanted to, but that didn’t mean he could tune it all out.

“Something like that.”

-

After dinner, Shane broke out a six pack.

“You shouldn’t buy beer anymore.” They were officers of the law now. Old enough to do everything but drink. Didn’t seem fair but the law was the law. If Shane were anyone else, any of his other high school friends, he’d have confiscate the fake ID.

“I don’t get it in town.”

“I’m not worried about you getting caught.”

“Then don’t drink it and shut the fuck up.” Shane was in a bad mood that day. Every day, seemed like. There were times Rick thought they were starting to drift apart.

He opened the bottle, a peace offering of sorts, and touched the glass to his lips. He wondered why he and Shane aspired to have this when they were little boys watching their daddies drink on the couch, opening can after can, beer breath and drunken laughter. The reality wasn’t near as good. It didn’t measure up to those crazy months in Atlanta.

They didn’t talk. Shane kept his eyes on the television, straight ahead. Rick thought about Lori, what she was doing, how she laughed when she was with her family, the curve of her pink mouth, curled asleep with her younger sister in the backseat. He wanted to be with her more than anything. To have what she could give him, simple and wholesome things a home and a family. This night wasn’t going like he’d thought.

The game ended and Rick didn’t know who won. He barely knew who was playing. Shane stood up; five of the six cans empty on his side of the coffee table. Rick was starting to worry about him, too. He might take that fake ID after all.

“Night.” A can crunched under the weight of Shane’s boot.

“Night,” he said, listening, as Shane went up the stairs, floorboards creaking, old, dry wood.

-

Rick had a goofy smile on his face and he was holding a pair of skates by the laces. He dropped the skates near the door.

Shane set the TV on mute, said

“Roller-skating?”

“Unfortunately.” Rick kicked off his shoes. “Damn near broke my neck.”

“Trouble with dating high school girls. They take that romantic movie crap to heart.”

They went on like that, talking, laughing, nudging each other’s ribs. That distance Shane had being feeling for so long had closed up, was stitched together. It felt like nothing they were sixteen, eighteen, just over five.

“Man,” he said, face stretched by a smile. “I missed this.”

“Just like old times.” Rick nodded, clinking their glasses together. Shane wondered why they were both drinking water. Why the water was warm in his mouth.

He leaned forward to kiss Rick, crossed the few inches between them on the couch. He was almost to Rick’s mouth, so close, and Rick turned his face away. Shane’s lips pressed against his cheek, scraped across stubble.

Rick gently pushed him away. He had the decency to look upset about it, by it, maybe.

“No more of that, Shane.”

“You said old times.” He tried to laugh.

Rick put a hand on his chest to keep him from moving closer. “I don’t understand.”

“Come on, Shane, we were kids. Don’t try to start this again.”

Only a few months ago. Eight since it started. Not enough time for them to just be kids. Shane’s whole life had been turned upside down because of what they did as “kids”. Rick had no right to snatch something like that away. To say it didn’t matter when it did. Chalk it up to being mixed up and young.

“Kids, sure. ‘Cause so much has changed.” He wanted something stronger than whiskey, than anything in the cupboard. He needed to numb his tongue. “You’ve matured a whole fucking lot in the last hundred days.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you. I shouldn’t have to.”

“Because I’m supposed to read your mind?”

“Fuck you, Shane.” It was the first time Rick’s ever said that to him and meant it. This was the first time they’ve ever fought about anything important. Everything had started slipping further downhill. Sounded dumb, but sex really did have a way of messing things up.

“You sure had no problem fucking me.”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” Rick went into the kitchen. Shane listened to the water run as he rinsed his glass and set it down to dry.

The only thing stopping him from punching Rick right in the face was knowing from firsthand experience that Rick Grimes didn’t solve problems with his fists, never had. Rick was a mediator. He liked to calm everyone down. Shane liked to fix things with broken teeth and bursts of blood.

He left and felt like a scorned, jealous wife, walking out to prove a point. He got in his car, shitty Honda he bought with two month’s salary, and drove. He didn’t go to the local bar, the one where guys from the station drank. He headed further south. The town was small, but it had a gay bar, too. A place no one liked to talk about, way out in the worst part of town, near the crumbling Victorian houses. He wasn’t old enough to drink in public yet and no cop in his right mind would to risk getting caught with a fake ID. Out here, at a place like this, people didn’t ask questions.

He seated himself at the bar, nursed his first beer, still steaming. By the third, his anger had starting to cool.

Men were looking. He knew it. He never had a problem with attracting people to him before. He had the body for it, the looks. The only one who wasn’t attracted to him was Rick. Or so he said, so he claimed. What they did together, attraction had to play some small part. You didn’t do those things with just anyone, just because. How close you were beforehand didn’t matter. There had to be that glint, and Rick was gayer than he thought he was. Shane knew.

He accepted a drink someone bought him. The liquid was deep, fiery red and it tasted sweet, like apples or cherries. Not his type of liquor, but a free drink was a free drink. He slammed down the empty glass hoping someone felt generous enough to buy him another. The guy did and Shane contemplated bringing him home, to his room, the one right next to Rick. He wanted to know what Rick’s face would be if he saw some strange guy half naked in the kitchen drinking milk straight from the carton. It would be great, only he couldn’t go through with it. He wasn’t into the guy thing. He was into Rick.

-

Shane stalked out the door. Rick couldn’t think of anything to do but call Lori, beg her to come over, to slip out of the house. He didn’t want to be alone. He thought he’d do something stupid, like go running out after Shane. He’d make things worse. Shane was just having a sexuality crisis. He was just mad about having to go somewhere else to get laid.

Lori could tell that he was upset. She threaded their hands together and waited patiently for him to speak.

Rick didn’t know what to say without having to start at the beginning.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he managed to say. The whole sentence sounded cryptic. He didn’t want her to start to worry. “It has nothing to do with us.”

“Did you get in a fight with Shane?” He loved that about Lori, how she could be so perceptive. He hated that about her as well. It was almost impossible to lie to her.

“Sort of. It’s not easy to explain. Guy stuff.” Not normal guy stuff, not for the type of guys they were, anyway. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. He needed to cool down, was all.” Shane needed to move on, was what. He needed to forget Atlanta, everything that went with it.

“Say no more. I’ve got best friends too.” Lori put her hands on his thighs, leaned in, kissed him. It was almost exactly what Shane had done a few minutes earlier, only Lori was softer against him, sweeter. She felt right. Shane was too close, platonic, just his childhood best friend. He couldn’t look at Shane now without seeing that and knowing he’d interpreted things wrong along the way. He was the one to start it, the blame fell on his shoulders, though and through. He was the one who had mixed Shane up, gotten him into things they shouldn’t have been doing with each other. Atlanta was something they both needed to forget so they could move on, grow up, be steady, socially acceptable men.

They went upstairs and he lay Lori down on his bed. She was small beneath him, delicate, slender shoulders and perky breasts. No hard muscle, just curves, feminine and supple. He kissed the skin on her stomach, her breasts, thumbed her nipples. He held her legs apart, thigh in each palm, and got that first taste. Made her come apart with his tongue, two fingers hooked inside her, until he gave her one last lick and slid a condom on, pushed in.

-

He left the bar a little after midnight, stumbled home. He couldn’t call Rick to drive him and if he got in the car he wouldn’t make it ten feet without wrapping it around a pole. Home was not too far, and drunk or not, he had stamina, the endurance to go for miles without help. He was home by one fifteen; just drunk enough to think he was brave enough to talk to Rick. He had tons to say, shit he could never say sober. He would regret it in the morning. He climbed the stairs, holding tight to the banister to keep from falling down.

Rick’s bedroom door was closed.

He pressed his ear to the door, skin flushed, overheated. A rustle of bodies moving on sheets, Lori’s high pitched moans, Rick groaning as Lori’s nails cut him deep. Shane closed his eyes and moved his hand into his pajama bottoms. Gripped his cock. He was so fucking pathetic. Like a love struck kid.

There was nothing enjoyable about it. He dragged his fingers along the length of his dick, squeezed the base, pictured Lori and Rick in bed, wrapped up in one another. The trail of Lori’s dark hair across a pillow, the muscles shifting under the skin of Rick’s back, the curve of his ass as he fucked into Lori, flattened her against the mattress. Lori’s thighs around Rick’s hips. He remembered when he and Rick were like that, when he was the one sharing Rick’s bed. It felt like a long, long time ago.

The mattress squeaked and the headboard gently rocked against the wall. Shane tightened his fist, sped up his pace. He wanted to get it over with. He thought of those nights in Atlanta, of him and Rick, and came all over his hand. The pleasure was ephemeral and as it faded he was left with a damp spot in his pants and a sticky palm. He stood outside, leaning against the wall, waiting for his heart rate to slow. Rick and Lori went quiet and he slunk away, knowing full well that Lori was going to stay. Rick only had problems sleeping next to Shane.

-

Rick came downstairs to the smell of pancakes on the griddle. Shane was standing at the stove, ritually flipping pancakes up into the air and catching them on the griddle. They both had the day off from patrol. Rick expected the morning to be tense.

“Hey,” Shane grunted, shoulders sloped, but he looked more hungover than he did angry. Whatever he had to drink the night before had softened the edges of his fury to something safe to touch. Good.

Lori joined them a few minutes later, wearing a pair of his shorts and a t-shirt Rick had borrowed from Shane. Shane looked at her. He wasn’t surprised to see her.

“Mmm, pancakes?” Lori pecked him on the cheek, tiptoed over and did the same for Shane. Her hand lingered on his shoulder. Rick couldn’t help but think she knew something was wrong with him, if her woman’s intuition could see things Rick was blind to.

“I didn’t think you guys would be up,” Shane said, pointing the spatula at the bowl he mixed the batter in. It was empty. He only made enough for himself.

“It’s okay,” Lori told him, her voice flat.

Shane took two plates out of the cupboard, slid a pancake onto each.

“Share the wealth,” he joked, even though it wasn’t funny, and Lori laughed at it, mouth open.

Rick watched the two of them sit down at the table, share the syrup, and had to settle for cereal and milk that might have been old. His spoon clinked against the side of the ceramic bowl. He touched his toes to Lori’s underneath the table.

“Do you want to come with us to the river?”

Shane stopped, like he couldn’t understand what Lori was saying. Rick was shocked she asked. “I don’t know much about you. You’re Rick’s best friend; I don’t want you to be a stranger.” She clasped her hands together, pleading. She was so young sometimes, naïve about the world. “It’ll be fun.”

“So long as I’m not gonna be the third wheel.” Shane looked right at him as he said it. Rick got the point.

“Never.” Lori reached across the table, squeezed Shane’s hand.

Middle of May and the sun glinted golden off the surface of the river. Lori’s skin caught the light, belly pale from winter and early spring. Shane stripped off his shirt. He was paler than usual, too. It was hot for late in the morning, climbing into the eighties, and there was sweat along Rick’s collar, between Lori’s breasts, dotting Shane’s forehead. He was reminded of high school, him and Shane coming to the river on the weekends, Rick with his girlfriend at the time, Shane with his girl of the week.

Shane dove into the water. Lori splashed in close behind. Rick watched from the bank, transfixed by the beauty in the moment, the stillness in the air. It seemed like everything was going to be okay. Shane ducked from water Lori spat at him and called for Rick to join them, one hand high up in the air, water droplets sparkling on his fingertips, refracting colored light. Shane picked him up soon as he was close enough, tossed him far as he could, and it was like the old times, the oldest ones, when they were uncomplicated kids.

Things were going to be fine now. It just took finding the right balance. Him and Lori, him and Shane; the three of them together.

-

Three weeks shy of twenty-two, Shane got home from patrol to find Rick packing boxes. Cardboard boxes. Moving boxes with Lori’s neat hand writing on the sides, differentiating clothes from junk from dishes. He did a double take. The last two and a half years were suddenly real. He never thought it would come this far. He thought Lori would be like all the other girls who inevitably broke Rick’s heart. So much for hope.

“She said yes!” Rick was grinning, giddy, like a boy with a new bike, a bird singing the return of spring. Rick forgot packing and hugged him, quick, a slap on the back, and Shane waited for Rick to jump and click his heels together, he was so excited. “I’m getting married.”

Shane liked Lori, he did, more than any of the girls Rick’s ever dated. She was funny, smart, big eyed and slender, fantastic body. She didn’t deserve someone better than Rick, because really, there was no one better, but she deserved someone the same, a guy equally nice, without the baggage. Someone without the penchant to be so unintentionally cruel. Rick said devastating things sometimes without meaning to, without realizing what he’d said. Lori didn’t need that in her life. Shane was used to Rick. He would always be able to put up with him.

“Congratulations, man.” Rick and Lori’s entire future played out in his head in a fraction of seconds. A big white wedding in the local church, a house down the corner, two stories with a picket fence, a few beautiful babies, a family Rick could call his own. Shane didn’t know how he would fit in, only that he’d do his best to carve himself a niche.

“You’ll be my best man, won’t you?” Rick extended a hand—open, honest. He wanted to share it with Shane, what would probably be the happiest day of his life. Shane clasped it, didn’t want to let go. He wished things could have panned out another differently.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He was so stupid, him and his crazy dreams.

“Lori and I are going to tell our parents over dinner tonight, wish me luck?”

“You don’t need it,” he said, every single word out of his mouth too damn true. “They’re gonna be thrilled.”

“I’ll tell you about it later.” He would, too, but later was anyone’s guess. Rick was moving out, into a place of his own, one that he was going to share with Lori. Lori wouldn’t live with him until they were married, but it would be _their_ home long before she moved in. Rick would tell him about it in the squad car, Shane’s feet resting on the dashboard, cramped during their lunch break.

“I’m gettin’ in the shower,” he said, just in case, even though Rick wouldn’t need him.

He locked the door behind him, turned up the spray. The water was warm. The old pipes rattled.

He cracked open the first of a six-pack of Coors, flicked the aluminum tab onto the tile floor. He tipped his head back, took a long, long drink, smelled citrus and alcohol, the damp of mildew and caked bars of soap.  



End file.
